


Pause

by temporalgambit



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Belly Rubs, Feeding, Hiccups, M/M, Stuffing, it's pretty tame honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalgambit/pseuds/temporalgambit
Summary: Hajime's moral compass gets the better of him.





	Pause

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt:
> 
> "i saw that you posted for sdr2, and i was wondering if you would consider doing something with the scene where komaeda asks hinata to feed him when he's tied up? with fluff and h/c and belly rubs, if possible?"

Slamming the tray on the ground with much more force than is necessary, Hajime turns on his heel and marches from the room, shutting the door with a satisfying _bang_.

However, something makes him pause just outside, fighting every instinct he has that is currently screaming at him to get as far away from Nagito as quickly as possible. Somehow, even tied up like this, he still has the power to drive Hajime absolutely up the wall. He’s creepy, his belief system is twisted beyond recognition, and Hajime doesn’t like the sensation that he’s one step ahead of the rest of them.

…But then again, there’s something else there, just below the surface. Some kind of trauma, real or imagined, that explains—not _excuses_ , but _explains_ —why Nagito is the way he is. Hajime is sure of that. So yeah, he may be royally fucked up, but Hajime suspects it has less to do with purposeful malice and more to do with self-preservation.

Not that it matters. Knowing the cause of Nagito’s particular brand of crazy does nothing to solve any of their ever-growing list of problems.

Breaking out of his own thoughts, Hajime can hear some sort of shuffling noise, followed by a scraping sound, behind the door. Then, so faint he almost thinks he must’ve imagined it, a soft groan. Though every muscle in his body desperately wants to flee, he can’t help but pause to consider what must be transpiring in the other room. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out—when he pictures the scene in his mind’s eye, he realizes he’d left the breakfast tray an impossible distance from Nagito’s prone form. With arms and legs tied, he has absolutely no way of reaching the food. He’s almost certainly hungry, too—it’s well past mealtime by now—and leaving nourishment just out of reach is a special kind of torment Hajime isn’t sure he wants to be a part of.

Hearing another small exclamation of frustration, Hajime takes a deep breath, steadies himself, clears his mind, and opens the door.

The flash of surprise on Nagito’s face would almost be comical, were it not immediately replaced by that dead-eyed hopeful expression. “Hajime, you came back! I hoped you would. I can’t quite—” he inclines his head towards the tray.

“I know,” Hajime steels himself before continuing, “I’ll feed you, since you can’t do it yourself.”

“Oh,” the surprise flits over his face once more, “Thank you, Hajime! I know trash like me shouldn’t be asking this of you, but I would be honored if you w—”

“Stop. Just…stop, with the whole self-deprecating thing. Be normal for like, ten minutes, okay?”

Nagito pauses. Opens his mouth, closes it. Nods instead. Either he likes taking orders—Hajime shudders—or he really is hungry enough to fear sending Hajime away a second time.

When a low grumble pierces the silence between them, Hajime is more than happy to accept the second explanation. Nagito even has the good graces to blush. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,”—better than fine, really—the noise is enough to shake Hajime from his reverie, and he approaches slowly, kneeling in front of Nagito and pulling the tray within reach. It’s simple fare—just scrambled eggs, toast, and milk, but the look of longing on Nagito’s face is so great, it may as well be a five-course meal.

First, Hajime has to get him sitting up. “Don’t want you to choke,” he says by way of explanation.

“Thank you, Hajime, that’s very— _oof!—_ considerate of you.” Hajime may have pulled him just _slightly_ more roughly than necessary, but that’s neither here nor there. The position doesn’t look very comfortable, bound as he is, but at lease he’s upright.

Without further ado, Hajime spears a small bite of egg and holds it to Nagito’s lips. He takes the food delicately, chews slowly, and swallows with a look of contentment on his face. 

The eggs are easy to manage, and, blissfully, Nagito is too focused on eating to attempt small talk. It must feel good to have something in his stomach, because he polishes them off in record time. Hajime lets him have a few sips of milk before the toast, doing his best to avoid dribbling it down his shirt.

The toast itself is a bit more complicated—Hajime actually has to _hold_ it for him while he nibbles at it, and he still manages to get crumbs just about everywhere. He sticks his tongue out to try to clear the worst of it from around his mouth, but all he succeeds in doing is making himself look ridiculous. Hajime would laugh in any other situation. As it is, he simply uses a corner of the napkin from the tray to brush away the crumbs.

“Thank you, Hajime!” Nagito says around his final mouthful of toast, “I feel so much better now.”

Hajime doesn’t acknowledge the thanks, more focused on getting out of here as soon as he can. “You have milk left,” he gestures at the mostly-full glass, “do you want it?”

Nagito nods enthusiastically. He seems so happy to receive even the slightest bit of attention, Hajime can’t help but wonder what in his past could possibly have made him this way. He shakes his head, trying not to think about it as he raises the glass to Nagito’s lips.

He drinks eagerly, not pausing even to breathe, seemingly happy to chug the liquid as quickly as possible. Hajime watches his throat bob with a strange kind of fascination, even when the contents of the glass have disappeared and Nagito is left licking his lips to get the final few drops.

“Finished?” Hajime asks, placing the cup next to the plate and silverware.

Nodding, Nagito starts up what is sure to be another tirade of gratitude. “It was delicious, thank you! I’m so glad y—” a startling noise, halfway between a hiccup and a burp, interrupts whatever he was planning to say. “Oh,” his cheeks darken again, “I’m sorry, I— _hic!_ ” He stills, a pensive sort of look on his face as he recognizes it’s not going to stop.

Rather than gathering the dirty dishes and retreating, Hajime remains fixated. For some reason, he can’t look away. It’s not that he _wants_ to see Nagito in distress, but to see him reduced to powerlessness by something so minor is almost captivating.

Nagito, however, does not seem fascinated in the slightest. Instead, he looks put-off, even more so when a bubbling sound from his stomach makes its way up into another airy belch. His expression pinches, a clear indication of pain as a spasmodic hiccup jerks him forward, and Hajime finds himself frowning as well. Maybe he’d forced too much food on him at once? But he’d been more than happy to eat…or maybe he should’ve simply held back a little more, made him pace himself better instead of rushing through the meal.

Too little too late.

Nagito breathes deeply, eyes closed, trying to relax away the irritating reflex. He swallows thickly against another paroxysm, then another, then _another—_

To say Hajime feels _bad_ for him would be a bit of an overstatement, but there _is_ some part of him that doesn’t like the feeling of just sitting there doing nothing while someone looks so uncomfortable. If it were _him,_ he’d be rubbing near his diaphragm, trying to soothe away the ache left behind by each spasm. But Nagito’s arms are tied up, which only leaves…

Before any pesky thing like _logic_ can get in the way, Hajime reaches forward, pressing an experimental hand right beneath Nagito’s ribs. 

Nagito jumps, eyes snapping open, and Hajime pulls away just as quickly. He mentally berates himself for coming up with such a stupid idea in the first place—what did he _think_ was going to happen? He should leave before he embarrasses himself further.

With that thought in mind, he pushes himself up, trying to shake some feeling back into legs that have long since fallen asleep. He bends to collect the tray, intent on returning the dishes to the kitchen, but halts all movement when he notices Nagito is _staring_ at him.

“What?” he makes less than a second of eye contact before glancing away. There’s some kind of _meaning_ behind that stare, but he doesn’t think he has enough pieces to complete the puzzle yet.

“It’s nothing, really. Just— _hic!—_ if you wanted to, you could do what you were— _hic!—_ about to do.”

Found out, Hajime fights to keep his expression under control. “It’s not about what _I_ want,” he levels his gaze, “I just thought it might help, that’s all.”

“It probably _would_ …” Nagito lets the comment hang in the air between them.

Hajime resists the urge to snap at him for the cryptic response. Instead he drops to his knees beside him once more. He tentatively places his hand in the same spot as before, unnerved now with Nagito watching him so intently. Feeling him jolt slightly with a badly-suppressed hiccup, Hajime rubs a little circle into his estimation of where it must hurt the most, not sure why he feels so damn _relieved_ when Nagito makes a small appreciative sound.

Bolder now, Hajime adds the tiniest amount of pressure, ever watchful of Nagito’s expression. He’s not sure if the other boy would even complain if he was hurting him, a thought that makes him uneasy. However, his concerns are all for naught—Nagito’s eyes have drifted shut again, but his face looks peaceful instead of strained. Hajime expands the circumference of his focus, hand straying to rub his belly as well. Nagito hums in the back of his throat, leaving Hajime marveling at the way a simple touch is enough to elicit this kind of reaction.

After a few moments of this, though, he realizes _why—_ beneath the onslaught of hiccups, he feels a sort of burbling, churning sensation. A spark of guilt flashes across his conscience as it dawns upon him that not only did he give Nagito the hiccups from hell, but an upset tummy to boot. He seriously should’ve taken more care in feeding him, instead of concentrating all his attention on making a swift exit.

Leaving the self-chastising for later, Hajime decides he’ll do whatever he can to remedy the situation. Unfortunately, that may mean _talking_ to Nagito—although, completely at Hajime’s mercy, he’s been pretty docile so far. Taking a slow breath, Hajime starts with the obvious. “Does this feel okay?”

Nagito opens his eyes long enough to nod fervently, even as a tiny burp forces its way from between his lips.

Hajime, unconvinced, feels rather than hears another noteworthy rumble from Nagito’s abused stomach—and that pinprick of pity in the back of his mind makes itself known when the other boy is unable to keep a fleeting grimace off of his face. “Does that hurt?”

“Kind of,” Nagito supplies honestly, “but it’s okay! If you have— _hic!_ —other things to do, I won’t make any attempt to stop you.” 

Hajime bites his tongue to keep himself from reminding Nagito that he physically _couldn’t_ stop him, even if he wanted to. Instead, he tries for reassurance. “No, this is fine, I just…” the upcoming apology gets stuck in his throat, but he hesitates for only a second, “I’m sorry for making you eat so fast. I wasn’t thinking.” His gaze falls to his own hand, still rubbing rhythmic circles in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. 

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m actually sort of happy, since you’re still keeping me company!”

Sighing, Hajime decides to end the conversation there, before he says something he doesn’t mean. Nagito closes his eyes once more, basking in the warmth of Hajime’s ministrations. 

A minute passes, then another. Neither of them speak—the only noise between the two of them is soft breathing and the occasional gurgle courtesy of Nagito’s stomach.

By the time they’ve reached the five-minute mark, the hiccups have all but subsided—and while Nagito’s tummy still feels a little unsettled beneath Hajime’s palm, he seems lightyears more relaxed than before. In fact, when he sways a little in place, Hajime realizes he’s actually on the verge of falling asleep.

“Do you want to lay down?” he offers, breaking the silence.

Nagito appears to consider the question, then nods. Not wanting to disturb him out of his peaceful state, Hajime takes him by the shoulders, gently lowering him down until he’s laying on his side. It doesn’t look like the most _restful_ position, but Nagito doesn’t seem to mind. Hajime finds himself wishing he had a pillow or a blanket—something to put under Nagito’s head to make the arrangement just the barest bit more tolerable—but he shakes that thought off as quickly as it came. 

Determining he’s done all he can for today, Hajime stands, stretching a bit, and gathers up the tray. He takes one last look at Nagito—who, for all intents and purposes, appears dead to the world—and heads for the door.

“Hajime?” the murmur stops him in his tracks.

“Yes?” he asks, bracing himself for whatever weirdness is surely going to come out of Nagito’s mouth.

“Thank you.” 

_Oh._

“You’re welcome,” he replies lamely. It feels simultaneously like too much and not enough. He spares one last look over his shoulder, but Nagito is out like a light.

With a strange feeling in his chest, he slides the door shut.

**Author's Note:**

> the party never stops.


End file.
